The Admonishments of Kherishdar
M.C.A. Hogarth

HUBRIS

vauni haale [vauhn nee HAA leh], (noun) — an empty vessel used as a meditation aid; popularized by a historical poem that spoke of filling an empty vase with one's spirit so one could contemplate it from a remove.

      See, I have bad thoughts.
      I know, everyone has bad thoughts. But mine are really bad. Really really bad.
      So, I try to fix them. You know. Correct myself. So no one will notice. Sometimes I'm pretty good at it, the thoughts go away for a week. But most of the time they come back fast, so I do it again.
      I spend a lot of my life trying to fix myself.
      The good part about this is that no one knew. I ended up sick once because I left myself out in the rain and got a fever, but no one knew why I was out there (after that I started doing it in the place-of-contemplation, where I won't catch a chill). But then Father caught me with a whip I stole from the stables and they figured it out.
      It was REEEEEALLY quiet in the House after that.
      Then one day, Father took me to the place-of-contemplation and left me there. With the whip. I wondered what that was about, and then the door opened again.
      Oh... I don't know how I could possibly describe him. But I was ashamed that he was there, and isn't that how it's supposed to work?
      He kneeled beside me and looked at me. "Why?"
      "I have bad thoughts," I muttered.
      "Mmm," he said. "Tell me. What do your studies say about the purpose of Correction?"
      "To make it so you don't err again," I said.
      He nodded. "So, have your self-Corrections taken away your bad thoughts?"
      "N-no," I admitted. Then added, "Well for a little while sometimes, though!"
      He was quiet then, and I fidgeted even though I've been trying to work on my fidgeting. When I thought I would die, he picked up the whip. "You were planning to use this on yourself?"
      It sounded stupid out loud. "Well..."
      "Do you know how?" he asked.
      How hard could it be? He handed it to me. "Go ahead," he said. "Aim for the wall."
      I tried it, but it wobbled all over the place and didn't even land right.
      Shame took the whip from me and turned me to face the empty vase in the front of the room. "Like this," he said, and his body just... just MOVED. And the snap was so loud I jumped.
      The vase wobbled on the pedestal but didn't fall...!
      "True Correction is like a breath of wind on the soul, turning it onto the best waters," Shame said. "Bad Correction..."
      This time the vase shattered and I screamed.
      "...destroys the soul. Tell me, do you have the wisdom to handle the whip?"
      "No!"
      "Who does?"
      "I... well... I guess... my family."
      He nodded. "Do you know why?"
      I shook my head, my heart still thumping.
      "Because they love you. And loving you, they know the you that truly is, rather than the small sliver of it you see inside your head."
      "Oh," I whispered.
      He offered me the whip. I shook my head quickly. "I won't do it again."
      "Good," he said, and went to the door.
      "Shame?" I said. And when he paused, rushed on, "Does that mean you love me?"
      He just smiled and closed the door. I might have squeaked... I'm working on my squeaking. But... you know. In a nice way.
      I leave the rest of it to Father.


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© 2007, M. C. A. Hogarth